


It's No Secret

by hespera (twitch)



Series: Taking Off... [1]
Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Episode references, F/F, Friendship, Friendship/Love, M/M, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 11:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3727285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitch/pseuds/hespera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale of oddities, secrets, truth - and the ever-constant search for a gig.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's No Secret

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2008.

There had been no women trying to seduce them with their crazy or innocent wiles. The hair-brained schemes that were usually their downfalls had mysteriously gone obsolete, along the way with chase scenes, musical montages and the albatross. Yet that was all the proof he needed to know something odd was going on. The only indication that they had some kind of normalcy in their lives was that they still scraped for gigs, but even then Babbitt hadn’t been pounding on their door, despite the fact that they owed him last month’s rent.

“Don’t you find it at all odd?”

“Don’t question our luck. The less we see of him is a good thing,” Micky assured him over cereal.

He anxiously curled his fingers tighter around his spoon. “I’m not denying it isn’t,” he countered. “I’m just not accustomed to this... peace.”

“Here’s some advice,” Mike offered after taking a sip of his juice. “Enjoy it now because it won’t last for long.”

“For long?” He smiled disbelievingly at his friends. “It’s been over a month!”

“A month?” Micky jumped out of his seat, rushing over to the window. The sunlit house was submerged into degrees of darkness as he yanked one blind down, then the second, the third and, at last, the fourth. The first two blinds knocked gently side to side from the force of the pull, bland in comparison to the last two; the third had a strip of paper pasted over it, holding the current record of days since the last household accident – a rather impressive thirty-two. The fourth blind held a tally of the days since the last women-crazy, chase-scene, hair-brained day. “We’ve broken our record!”

“We have?” Dropping his spoon in his bowl Mike slowly walked over to Micky who had run over to the household calendar, flipping backwards through it. “By how much?”

Eyes scanning through the days of not so old Micky could barely contain his glee, grinning and jittering in place. “By twenty-eight days – to a grand total of forty-six!”

Breakfast was no longer important in the wake of the news. Having to see it for himself he joined Mike and Micky, peering around Micky’s shoulder as he bounced about with a grin on his face. He couldn’t help but smile as well. “Why didn’t we know about this sooner?”

Mike calmed down enough to consider the question. “I’m guessing that because of our track record none of us expected anything like this to happen. After all, we seem to have the worst of luck at times.”

“Not anymore though!” Micky cut in.

“We have to tell Peter the good news!” he added. 

Davy didn’t expect the clap to his shoulder that Mike gave him but hugged him back when his arms tightened around his shoulders. Still bouncing Micky pulled Mike away, giving him another hug before turning on Davy. For several oxygen-free seconds Davy gaped, only to be released when Micky bounced over to the windows again, hugging the good-news blind. Sunlight shot through the pane briefly, but then Micky let go of the blind and darkness returned. “What we have to do is celebrate!” Micky proclaimed.

The celebration was nothing more than spending the day on the beach, having fun while causing the least amount of trouble for other beach goers, but even today there were less heads than usual shaking their disapproval at them. Exhaustion didn’t set in until well after sundown; with their stomachs rumbling they headed back to the house, Mike trudging while Micky sprinted, Davy in hot pursuit. Davy was still on the beach when Micky darted up the steps and in through the backdoor. The two yelps and a crash that sounded from inside had him slowing to a standstill. “Micky?”

“I’m alright!” If it weren’t for the open doorway the tiny moan that followed wouldn’t have been heard. “Oh, come on, it couldn’t have hurt that much.”

Davy edged towards the first step just as Mike caught up with him, striding past him to check what had caused the noise. “What have you done now?” Mike asked.

“Peter was lurking around in the dark! If he had turned on the lights I wouldn’t have run into him!” Micky defended from the still-black house.

“Pete?” Concerned Davy hurried up as Mike stepped inside, turning on the lights. Inside Micky was righting a couple of the cymbals of the drum-kit while Peter dazedly lifted himself to sit on the edge of the bandstand, holding his head in one hand. “Where have you been all day?”

“Down... around... downtown,” Peter replied, close to a mumble. He shook his head as though it would clear him of his shock, but all it did was make him wince. Under the wisps of blond bangs there was a thin line of blood. “I was downtown and I forgot what time it was.”

Mike crouched down before him, gently cupping Peter’s knee to get his attention. “Don’t worry about that. Now, how many fingers am I holding up?” Mike asked while raising two fingers.

Peter’s head wavered side to side on his shoulders as he narrowed his eyes in concentration, mouthing but not speaking as he tried to count. Frustrated he scrunched up his nose. “I can’t tell when you keep moving your hand!”

Mike glanced up to Davy and Micky as they paused in the opening the blinds, Davy standing before a zero and Micky in front of the forty-six, then back to his steady hand. “Right boy, you just stay put right here until Micky and Davy are finished,” Mike instructed. He gave Peter’s knee a pat before standing, turning and whistling his way into the kitchen.

Finished with uncovering the windows Davy and Micky exchanged looks. They didn’t need Mike’s words to know what to do; one look at Peter’s bowed head, now cradled in both his hands, and they realised he was in no shape to stand up on his own. “Next time don’t play the drums with your head,” Micky teased as he hooked his hands under Peter’s arms

A low chuckle escaped Peter’s mouth. “Next time don’t throw me into the drums.” On the receiving end of a strong pull he found himself on his feet in less than a second. His head spinning and his heels hitting the raised platform he found himself teetering backwards. “Too fast!”

Davy scurried to his other side, helping him to balance. “Are you alright now?” Davy asked, looking up to the slightly pale face.

“I’ll be fine.” Gripping Davy’s arm for support he took a wobbly step away from the stage. “Or I’ll be fine in a couple of minutes.”

That touch, so inconsequential, was the trigger Davy needed to realise what was out of place.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Peter, who had taken to slipping silently out of the house in the wee morning hours and returning in the evening; if it weren’t for a cup or plate on the counter, used but clean, or his boots inside the doorway, Peter could have been a ghost. Practices and rehearsals had been switched to the evenings, when they didn’t have a gig, an unspoken accommodation for his absence. However, if there wasn’t music to be played, Peter wasn’t around. Thinking on it now he could only remember seeing Peter in the middle of the night, the older man fast asleep. It was evident something outside of the house, outside their circle, was occupying him, but what it was or how long it had been going on he didn’t know. 

“What were you doing downtown?” Davy asked, schooling his tone to curious but casual. He noticed Micky glancing at him but he kept his attention on Peter, trying not to look too concerned.

Once lowered to the couch Peter looked up, clearly not expecting the question. “Nothing much to be honest,” he replied after several seconds of deliberation. “I just felt like getting out for a while.”

“For a while?” Micky sat down beside him with a laugh. “You’ve been out for most of the day!”

Smiling sheepishly Peter bowed his head just enough for his hair to cover his eyes. “Is it too obvious to say I lost track of time?” 

“Very obvious!” Mike’s muffled voice came from one of the cupboards, the one with the pots and pans if the clattering was any indication.

“Alright, let’s see the damage I did.” Sitting himself beside Peter Micky pushed away his bangs. The touch just a bit too firm, Peter winced, flinching away. Blood staining Micky’s fingers and smudging across Peter’s forehead Micky looked appropriately chastised. “Geeze Pete, I didn’t realise I hit you that bad.”

“It wasn’t you, it was your cymbal,” Peter assured him. He started to lift his hand but tucked it upon his lap before it reached his head. “But I’ve got a hard enough head, thick even according to you.”

Micky was unable to keep from grinning. “You just sit here Sir, and you will be in Nurse Jones’ capable hands. She’ll have you on the mend in no time.”

“Me?” Davy took a step towards Micky as he stood, about to move but stopped by Davy’s indignant tone. “You were the one who ran into him.”

Micky shook his head, still smiling but also giving a knowing look. “Do you really think it’s wise to leave me alone with Pete after what I’ve done to him?”

What protest he was about to voice, reason quickly silenced it. “Good point.” His eyes rolled up as a white nurses’ cap was plonked down on his head.

* 

Once the concern of any amputations or surgical procedures was alleviated, the rest of the night went by without incident. There had been a short moment of worry whether anyone should watch Peter as he slept but he assured them that he was okay. Fretting for only a few minutes Davy slept soundly, his blankets warm and snug around him. They were so warm he never wanted to get out of bed, but the loud clunk of a door being shut had grabbed his attention, rousing him firmly from slumber.

He emerged from the bedroom as Micky leaned over the railing, eyes searching. “Who was that?” Micky asked, his voice alert despite his bed-mussed appearance.

“Who was what?” Mike asked as he stepped out of the bathroom, wearing his bathrobe and towelling off his face.

“That,” Micky corrected.

“What?”

“That.”

“Who?”

“What?”

Rolling his eyes Davy ignored his friends in favour of continuing Micky’s search. His gaze hadn’t wandered far before spotting a bowl and spoon on the kitchen counter, clean but air-drying on a towel. “Not again,” he mumbled, but not realising how loudly he spoke.

“Who?”

“What?”

“Where?”

“Peter’s gone again,” Davy replied, making his way to the stairs. Unwilling to conceal his frustration he sat down brusquely. “Without telling us he’s going out or where he’s going.”

Mike followed Micky down the stairwell. “He probably thought we were still asleep, and didn’t want to wake us up.”

“But why is he always sneaking off in the morning?” Davy wondered aloud.

“It’s not sneaking when he’s slamming doors,” Micky pointed out, seating himself on the step behind Davy.

Davy glanced backwards, gaze pointed. “It’s also not like Peter to not tell us what he’s doing.”

“He doesn’t need to tell us what he’s doing all the time, Pete can take care of himself.” Mike couldn’t keep his own sceptical look off his face when two doubtful expressions turned his way. “Well... He’ll manage.”

“Right.” Accent heavy in his annoyance Davy shook his head. “That’s as likely as us keeping out of trouble.”

“Forty-six days,” Micky reminded quickly. “Forty-seven as of today.”

“Keep boasting about that and you’ll curse us,” Mike warned. “And Davy, relax. Whatever Peter is up to he’s not causing any trouble. We’d have heard about it already otherwise.”

Despite Mike’s reassuring words Davy wasn’t convinced. Exasperated he folded his arms across his knees. “But what is he up to, and why does it take up most of the day?” 

“Espionage? Counterfeiting? Laundering?” Micky suggested.

Mike turned an incredulous look down to Micky. “When was the last time he did the wash?”

Micky pursed his lips, pondering Mike’s question. “Maybe that’s what he’s doing.”

“You two are of no help,” Davy muttered. Getting back to his feet he walked over to the couch, not looking back to his friends who were now making faces at his back. They stopped when he turned around and sat. “Why isn’t he spending time with us anymore?”

“Have you considered that he just doesn’t want to spend time with you?” Micky questioned. He didn’t react at all to the swat to his shoulder. “He’s probably downtown, wandering around like he did yesterday. He doesn’t have a contract spelling out that he has to spend every minute with us.”

“I still don’t know how he found that loophole,” Mike commented lowly, a touch of envy colouring his voice.

“Who?” Davy asked.

“What?” Micky quickly followed.

“Where?” Shaking his head firmly Mike stopped himself there. “Look Davy, you’re over-reacting. He probably just wants some alone time. When we all live in the same house, even share bedrooms, it’s hard to get any privacy. Are you going to condone him for that?”

“Of course not.” Sighing softly he braced his hands on the cushions beside him, framing himself. “It’s just that this has been going on for a while and...” The fear that he was making something out of nothing made him pause bowing his head and biting his lip. “Maybe you’re right. I’m over-reacting or imagining things.”

“How long is ‘a while?’” 

Micky’s question cut through his thoughts; looking up through his fringe but not raising his head Davy replied. “I don’t know how long, but it’s been over a month.”

Micky glanced up to Mike, who looked to be as bewildered by the news as he was. “Why didn’t we see this?” Micky asked.

“I only noticed it yesterday,” Davy pointed out. Any attempts at comforting his friends vanished as the question that kept plaguing him slipped past his lips. “Do you think he’s hiding something from us?”

“No!” Mike’s answer was loud enough not only to surprise Micky and Davy but also himself. With a stiff chuckle he recomposed himself, straightening up and running his hand through his hair. “What we have here is an incident of miscommunication. Pete’s probably been dealing with some personal things, things that take time to oneself to sort through.” Nodding his head he crossed his arms. “You see, tonight when he gets home, he’ll tell us what’s been bothering him.”

Micky and Davy slowly nodded their agreement.

Later that day, dusk creeping across the sky, Peter returned. Making sure not to leave their friend alone they kept him company, from meagre dinner, to chatting and relaxing in the living quarters, until Peter gave them a sleepy goodnight.

Micky glanced up from the magazine he was reading on the couch while Davy looked up from the maracas he was polishing, both looking towards Mike.

Put-out Mike glared at the bathroom door, no doubt even glaring at the bassist within. “Alright, tomorrow we talk to him. He’s obviously too embarrassed to say it outright.”

The next day, after an early-morning retreat and a late return, they cornered him at the front door, the knob jabbing into Peter’s back. Faced by expressions ranging from curious, concerned and accusing, he shrank a little, looking surprised but not uncomfortable.

“You’ve spent the whole day out again,” Micky remarked, smiling to lessen any accusation his words could carry. “Where have you been?”

Surprise ebbing into understanding, Peter relaxed. “Oh, I just felt like going out.”

“You’ve been doing that a lot – going out, not telling us,” Mike added, not lightening his words like Micky had. 

Peter cast his eyes down, sheepish. “I’m sorry for not telling you.” Hazarding to look up he put on a sincere smile. “I’ll make sure to tell you next time.”

“Do tell us,” Davy agreed. “You can tell us anything.”

Peter cocked his head to the side, smile faltering. “What do you mean anything?”

“If you’re having any problems-” Micky started.

“Or just want someone to talk to,” Mike added.

“You can talk to any one of us,” Davy finished.

“I talk to you guys all the time,” he reminded, looking to the three of them in turn. “And I’m not having any problems, but if I was you’d already know about it.”

“Then what are you doing all the time? It seems like we only see you at night now,” Micky pointed out. He took a step back, looking Peter over carefully. “You haven’t turned into a vampire, have you?”

“Don’t be silly, that was Davy,” Peter said, nodding towards Davy. 

Davy shrugged under the looks Mike and Micky were giving him, but tried to bring the focus back on Peter. “What are you doing all this time Peter?”

“Trying to get inside the house.” Before Mike could stop him he squeezed past, heading into the kitchen where a pot on the stove was about to boil over. He switched off the element then turned back to them. “I’m not avoiding you, I just... go out.”

The words ‘why’ and ‘where’ burned on Davy’s tongue, but rather than speak them aloud he kept his mouth closed. However the questions must have been written on his face, for Peter blushed and looked down at his feet. “I’m... not all that hungry, but... I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

The back door creaked open and shut, Peter disappearing down the stairs. Out of sight the three friends looked at one another, exasperated but unable to get the nagging feeling that something horrible was happening. 

Micky released his thumbnail from between his teeth. “What now?”

Mike’s face was one of grim determination. “Now we take on a different tactic.”

*

The next morning Peter glanced around the house, once then twice, before carefully easing the front door open.

Davy pushed the bedroom door wide, stepping into the kitchen in time to see the back of Peter’s head vanish outside. Out of the brown trench coat he wore he pulled out a walkie-talkie. Pressing the button and lifting it to his mouth he spoke lowly. “The robin has left the nest.”

“What?” Mike yelled from upstairs.

With an irritated huff he threw the walkie-talkie onto the table. “The robin – Peter has left!” 

Hurried footfalls pounded down the stairs, bringing forth Mike and Micky, both dressed in matching trench coats. However Micky was wearing a wide-brimmed hat, pulled forward to cover his eyes. “Okay, our briefing,” Micky began, in imitation of a film noir detective. “So our suspect is on foot, with a foot speed of five miles per hour. He’s to be apprehended as gently as possible. He’s low flight potential but-”

“We aren’t apprehending him,” Davy cut in.

“That’s right, we’re following him,” Mike corrected. “So let’s go before we lose him.”

Micky started for the front door, Mike and Davy behind him and donning black sunglasses. They were almost outside when Micky stopped, spinning back inside the house and nearly knocking Davy over in the process. Micky collapsed back against the door after shutting it fast but softly. “What was that for?” Davy asked, stretching for the door peephole. 

“Babbitt,” Micky hissed out. Davy recoiled while Mike took a big step back. “He’s coming for the rent!”

“We can’t wait for him to leave, we’ll go out the back way,” Mike instructed, already leading them on their escape route. 

Tripping over their coats as they climbed over sand dunes, they finally made their way to the road. With their hat and sunglasses they were properly equipped to protecting themselves from the glare of the sun but they were nowhere ready to figuring out which way Peter left in. “Well, if he were on the beach he would have gone out through the backdoor,” Micky reasoned.

Scanning both directions of the road Davy shrugged. “So left or right?”

“How are we to know?” Snapping in irritation Mike yanked off his sunglasses. “He’s now got a ten minute lead on us.”

“Good thing we don’t make a living as detectives,” Micky pointed out with a laugh. “We’d be in the poorhouse in no time.”

“We are in the poorhouse,” Mike pointed out quickly.

With a heavy sigh Davy trudged back towards the house. It was too early to call defeat, but feeling disheartened he had no wish to continue. All he wanted was the assurance that he wasn’t losing a friend; sadly, it looked all too possible.

*

The next morning they were ready. Micky hid behind the curtains of the upstairs bedroom window, watching Peter turn left from their driveway, up to the first intersection, then turn right.

“Alright, let’s go!” Micky yelled as he sprinted down the stairs. Davy and Mike already at the front door, keeping an eye out to make sure they wouldn’t run into Babbitt, they set out on their reconnaissance mission, minus the trench coats and accessories from the previous day. Keeping a short but careful distance to see but not be seen they followed their friend.

Safe in the knowledge that they could come out of their hiding spot behind a large flowering tree since Peter had turned onto a different street, they hurried along the sidewalk. “Where do you think we’ll find him?” Micky asked.

“I dunno, his mind is as unpredictable as yours,” Mike commented. He held up his hand in a halting gesture as they neared the corner. Tip-toeing to the edge he peered around the corner, his whole body relaxing. “Okay, I can still see him, he’s not that far ahead, but we’ll wait a few more seconds.”

Davy crept forward carefully, not wanting to bump into Mike. Sure enough he could see Peter, blond head facing forward, oblivious to all else but the road before him. For the hundredth time he wished Peter would tell him what he did all day, or, failing that, understand his silence. Squeezing back the sigh he wanted to release he stared at Peter’s shrinking form. “If we wait too long we might not ever find out where he is,” he commented.

“Alright, alright,” Mike muttered. Lowering his arm he began walking again, Davy and Micky on his heels like puppies. Starting and stopping they followed after Peter for twenty-five more minutes, finding themselves drawn downtown, along with everyone else who was making their way to work. The throngs of people rushing in every direction were their downfall, not just Peter disappearing into the crowd but all four of them.

Davy pushed forward in the direction he was certain he last saw Peter heading in. He squeezed past a suit jacket clad arm, almost walking sideways into a mother carrying a fussing child. Bouncing on his toes he tried to look over a couple of shoulders, hoping to find some sign of Peter. All he did find was a man who was too busy looking at his watch while jogging straight at him. Davy bounced to the side, flinging himself flat against a storefront door. Pouting in aggravation he waited, hoping that the crowd would thin out so he could get back to the sidewalk. 

Over the mess of footfalls and voices he could hear Micky. “Davy, where are you?” 

He wove his hand above his head, hoping that Micky or even Mike would see him. “I’m here!”

Micky and Mike appeared at the storefront, both looking breathless. During the brief time they were apart Mike’s hat was knocked sideways on his head. With a roll of his eyes he straightened it back on. “Keep running ahead like that and we’ll need to put a leash on you,” he reprimanded.

“I was trying to keep up with Peter,” Davy defended. Looking as irritated as Mike did he glared after another procession of business men and women. “Not that it matters. I’ve lost him.”

“Do you think he knows that we were following him, and just led us here so he could lose us?” Micky supposed out loud.

“That would require a plan, and today we have the plan, not him.” The fleeting look of worry that crossed Mike’s eyes contrasted his confident words. With a final tug of his hat the mood was gone. “Which way did you see Pete walking in?”

Davy pointed further down the street, his finger more gesturing to a city worker than the sidewalk. The man narrowed his eyes in confusion but Davy shook his head, tucking his hand against his waist as he crossed his arms. “I last saw him going that way.”

“Then lead us, and keep your eyes open,” Mike instructed. “He could be just about anywhere at this point.”

Not wanting to waste any more time they continued, careful not to get separated again. Davy kept his gaze ahead while Micky glanced into stores and Mike looked across the street to the opposite sidewalk. They kept walking that way for ten more minutes, spotting many a blond but not their friend. Without any success they crossed the street, making their way to a small block of grass usually not found in the middle of the city. Davy and Mike were about to cross the final distance to get to the park, only to be halted by Micky shouting. “What?” Davy asked, lifting his foot from the street and back to the curb.

Instead of waiting Micky rushed Davy, grabbing his elbow and yanking him to a doorway. “This coffee shop is advertising for musicians,” Micky said excitedly, jabbing his fingers at a sheet of paper taped to the inside of a narrow window edged beside the door. “We might have not found Peter but we can’t pass up this opportunity.”

While Davy and Micky read the advertisement Mike watched the patrons inside, through a large bay window; circular tables were spread throughout the shop, grouped with two or three chairs around each of them. The shop didn’t look particularly busy, only several customers seated, though the number would most likely triple when the lunch hour approached. “It wouldn’t hurt,” Mike agreed. 

The radio was turned on low, music playing softly so as not to intrude on conversations or orders. There was no line up leading to the counter so they approached, Micky blatantly checking out the place. A girl at the counter, who appeared to be having a conversation with the baked goods on display, looked up as she realised they were drawing near. “Hello, may I take your order?” she asked with a friendly smile.

“Oh, we aren’t ordering anything,” Micky assured her, stopping to return the smile.

“We want to ask about the advertisement on the window, for musicians,” Davy explained, gesturing back to the entrance with his head.

“I think I can help you with that.” Her eyes flickered off to her side, but she nodded and continued. “Three nights a week we let local artists perform, Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays. The sets are an hour long at most, giving us enough time to feature three artists a night.”

“What’s the pay?” Mike asked.

“It’s not much to be honest, it’s only twenty-five dollars,” she replied. 

“What if we were to play more than one set?” Micky asked.

She stopped at that, eyes almost frowning in thought. “The owner hasn’t ever had one person do more than one set,” she murmured.

“Could you please ask him... Miss...?” Mike asked, put on a polite but pressing face.

“Oh, call me Jeannette, and he’s not in at the moment, he just went to the bank to get our pay cheques,” she explained. “He’ll be back in five minutes.”

Micky whispered aside to Mike. “That won’t take long. It’s not like we have anywhere to go, plus, we’ll finally have a gig.”

Davy was vaguely listening to his friends, more focussed on her glancing to the floor again, lips parted. Stepping closer to the counter he braced his hands on the counter, needing the leverage to get up on his toes and lean forward. Just as he did so he heard a crash. Jeannette dropped to the ground as he stretched further, various cookies tumbling into his line of vision. “Someone’s throwing food at you!”

“I knew it was going to fall!” Jeannette was crouched, her arms occupied by a tray of baked goods that was just barely perched on a crooked shelf below the counter. Aside from the cookies she had saved most of the food from spilling to the floor, items having slid about on the tray or onto her arms and lap. 

“Here, let me help you,” Davy offered. He hopped up so he was sitting on the counter. Hesitating for a second, taking the time to figure out how to get around the cash register, he swung his feet across; before he could get his feet on the ground he kicked her on the jaw. “Jeannette! I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

She dropped a muffin as she cupped her cheek. “I’m alright, you just surprised me.”

“I surprised me!” Carefully hopping down he crouched beside Jeannette. Taking her fingers he drew her hand away, finding a red mark already stretching from chin to ear. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Can you... ah... help, in some way?” She glanced down to her lap, more food having fallen since she took her one hand away. “Can you get the food off of me?”

“Of course.” He stacked the few cookies that hadn’t fallen back on the tray before picking up several more muffins, along with a brownie that had slid into the nook of her elbow. 

“Davy?” Davy glanced up at hearing Mike call his name. “What are you doing down there?” 

“What is this, a line up?” Another voice called out. “Has no one served you?”

“Yes, Jeannette has, she’s just busy with our friend down-” Micky started.

“Jeannette!” The voice drew nearer, indignant, but stopped as a slightly older man joined them behind the counter. His eyes narrowed upon Davy’s hand, still on her elbow, before lifting to see the red welt on her face. “What are you doing with her? Where’s-”

“He’s in the back getting more cookies, I dropped quite a few,” Jeanette explained. “I don’t know what’s wrong with this shelf, but it needs to be repaired. It just collapsed. Davy was helping me make sure I don’t drop anything more.”

“Oh, thank you, I really appreciate it.” He stepped in, taking the tray from Jeannette’s hands, before facing Davy, expression apologetic. “Let me get you a drink, all three of you, on the house.”

“There’s really no need, we won’t be long, we just wanted to ask some questions about the music nights you run.” Mike spoke up. “We understand that you offer hour-long sets, but would a band be able to play two sets?”

“I know that two sets are expected at clubs, but we aren’t a club, we’re just a little coffee shop,” he explained. “I like to give everyone equally opportunity, to share their voices and get attention.”

“Yeah, little,” Micky agreed. He glanced around the shop again, his eyes drifting towards the small stage. “I also noticed that you don’t have a lot of outlets at the stage. I presume you let the acts bring in their microphones and switches-”

“Microphones?” The man cocked his head, looking from Mike and Micky then to Davy. “Oh no, I really need to change the sign on the window. Our music nights aren’t electric, they’re acoustic.”

Micky’s face fell, lips pouting out. “That... kind of... sucks.”

“I’m sorry boys,” he said, shrugging awkwardly.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who wants a rock band?” Mike asked hopefully.

“Only my cousin,” he replied.

Micky’s face lit up. “Birthday party?”

“No, she wants to be in a rock band.”

“Don’t we all,” Mike commented dryly. “Well, thank you for your time but we must really get going.”

“I really am sorry, I wish I could help but...” He shrugged again, expression apologetic, but he stilled, realising he was still holding onto the try. “Want one?” 

Back outside, having made their way finally to the park, they sat on the grass. Their disappointment so great they didn’t bother getting up, not even two hours later. Davy picked at his cookie, eating it slowly. “That’s just great, not only couldn’t we find Peter, we couldn’t find a gig,” he lamented.

“At least we got food,” Micky pointed out, still holding onto the wrapper from his muffin.

Mike sighed deeply. “I can’t say my cookie brightened my day.”

“You’re expecting too much out of a cookie,” Davy interjected.

“I need my perks,” Mike replied, voice dull. “Not all of us can get the girl like you Davy.”

“I was helping her, not getting her,” Davy corrected.

Micky leaned against his knees, moving closer to Davy. “When does it not start with you helping out?”

“Do you think I have this ability to help out and win over any girl?” Irritated with his friends ganging up on him he scowled. “It’d be far more helpful if I could win over Peter. If I could I’d help him out, win him over. Maybe that way he’ll tell me the truth.”

“If that was the case we’d already know the truth,” Mike mentioned.

“Speaking of girls, what’s Jeannette doing?” Micky interjected.

“It’s called serving coffee,” Mike replied, who was now carefully peeling a blade of grass down the middle.

“I know that.” Davy grinned at Micky’s clipped but amused tone. “But she’s across the street, talking with someone. Did anyone see her leave?”

“I guess she went on her break when we weren’t looking,” Mike suggested, still paying more attention to the mini-surgery he was performing.

Glancing in the direction Micky indicated Davy watched Jeannette, her short stature emphasised by the oversized jacket she wore, verging on coat-length on her. Laughing she kept walking, moving far enough ahead that he could see who she was with. His eyes widened in recognition. “It’s Peter!”

Mike tore the grass into a ragged strip, twisting his head around. “Where?”

“He’s with Jeannette!” Realising that Mike wasn’t looking in the right direction he turned Mike’s head so that he could see them standing on the curb. She had just nudged him with her elbow and he nudged her back, before putting his arm around her shoulders. “See?” he asked, the word strangled with indignation.

“Of course, that’s why he didn’t want to tell us,” Micky realised.

Mike pushed Davy’s hand off of him to glance back to Micky. “Why?”

“He was too shy to tell us he had a girlfriend, or he didn’t know how to tell us,” Micky explained, only to pause and reconsider. “Or maybe he was waiting to introduce us. Whatever his reason, it all has to do with the girl in his life.”

“Our dear boy, in love,” Mike sighed. His act of wistfulness didn’t last long, turning into a chuckle that he directed at Davy. “It seems like he stole your girl.”

“He didn’t steal anything!” Davy argued. “He had her first. I would have been the one stealing!”

“Well, you’re right about one thing,” Micky commented.

“What would that be?” Davy asked, though not really caring for answer

“You didn’t get the girl,” Micky teased.

Sharply turning his head away from his friends, Micky smirking and Mike laughing, he found himself watching Peter and Jeannette cross the street, smiling and talking with one another. He couldn’t watch for too long without hurting himself, his chest tightening and throat stinging. Unwilling to subject himself to the sight or the pain he stood up, pressing his knuckles to his temple, the beginning of a headache already forming.

“Are you alright? Mike asked, standing up after him.

“I’m just feeling a bit tired,” Davy responded wearily. “Is it alright if we head home?”

“Why not, we now know Peter’s secret,” Micky replied cheerily. Rising to his feet as well he clapped Davy on his shoulder and they made their way across the street, once Peter and Jeannette wouldn’t see them, safe in the shelter of the coffee shop.

No longer trailing Peter their walk home didn’t take nearly as long. Numb with shock, Davy was unconcerned of the conversation Micky and Mike were having, let alone know what they were talking about. His mind wasn’t even aware of where his feet were taking him, and so when they arrived back at their house his feet brought him stumbling straight into Babbitt. Mike and Micky walked into him, all three of them freezing in panic.

“We’ll have the rent at the end of the week!” Mike shouted out his usual defence, not realising that Babbitt wasn’t doing his usual arguing.

Snorting in laughter Babbitt shook his head. “What are you boys talking about? You don’t owe me any rent.”

Micky’s expression fell from panic to confusion. “Don’t?”

“Don’t worry about it, you’re fine,” Babbitt said, patting Micky on the shoulder and walking onwards to their neighbour’s house.

Out of earshot Micky turned on Davy and Mike. “What was that about?”

He was greeted with two equally confused faces as his.

*

“Issue number one: Peter’s absences,” Mike announced as he walked back and forth the length of the floor in front of the couch.

Micky nodded his head. “Solved.”

“Not quite,” Davy grumbled lowly, head in his hands.

“Correct, Peter has been absent because he’s spending time with Jeannette, his girlfriend,” Mike elaborated, unaware of the scowl on Davy’s face. “Which brings us to issue number two: our rent, which shouldn’t be paid but has been paid... just not by us.”

“That’s not an issue, that’s a blessing,” Micky pointed out, obviously having had a change of heart.

“Blessing, curse, it’s still an issue,” Mike argued. Having already paced for five minutes he sat down on the couch, taking up the middle cushion between Micky and David. “Who paid for it?”

“Obviously not Babbitt, he’s not exactly none for acting in our best interest,” Micky reminded.

“Very true,” Mike agreed. Relaxing into his seat he narrowed his eyes, submerging into thought. “And none of us would ever ask friends or family to borrow money. That leaves us with... no one else.”

“No one, but a mystery,” Micky said. As confused as he had been looking his expression lightened. “But we figured out the mystery of what was going on with Peter so figuring out this one shouldn’t be too hard.”

Davy’s eyelids sunk in time with Micky’s words. He couldn’t blame them for wanting to find out what had happened with their rent, they really should figure out how it was paid for since it didn’t come out of their pockets. He just couldn’t muster the energy to trouble himself with that, not when there were other things he wanted to brood over. 

He should have been happy for discovering why Peter was acting the way he was. Thinking that Peter was hiding something from him had not only insulted him, but hurt him deeply. It wasn’t in Peter’s nature to keep secrets; he was an open book for anyone to read, so why he hadn’t been honest truly felt like a stab in the back.

What he really didn’t anticipate though was the bitterness he felt at seeing Peter with Jeannette. They had only just met her that morning, and she had been friendly with them, but once he saw her with Peter together, both of them laughing like they were the best of friends, they turned into the cruellest people he had ever known. He recognised his reaction to be jealousy, but the thing that truly made his stomach plummet was that he was jealous of Jeannette. He wanted to argue that he only wanted to look out for Peter, but he couldn’t entirely convince himself that his intentions were platonic.

Why was he the first to notice that Peter was never around?

Why did it hurt when Peter wouldn’t tell him the truth?

Why had he been scared that Peter was leaving him, and not them?

Why was it so urgent that he had to spy on him?

Why did he have the compulsion to throw Jeannette into the ocean?

“Davy? D’y’hear us?”

A light flush rose to his cheeks upon realising Mike and Micky were staring at him. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” 

“Mike just asked if you were feeling any better,” Micky said. He kept on scrutinising him, much to his discomfort. “You don’t look all that well.”

Davy bit the inside of his lip to keep from sighing. “I’m alright, just... thinking.”

“They don’t look like happy thoughts,” Mike commented.

“I’m fine.” This time he didn’t hold back his sigh, realising how snappy he sounded. “I will be fine, I’m just a little surprised by everything that’s happened today.”

“I think it’s safe to say that we’re all surprised by today,” Micky pointed out. Davy would have laughed, but not wanting to concern Mike and Micky any further, merely nodded like Mike was. Breathing deeply they all leaned back against the couch, only to snap to attention when the door slammed open. 

“Don’t do that!” Mike gasped, clutching his chest with one hand.

Peter cowed back against the door, not expecting the harsh words. “Okay,” he agreed, eyes and white smudges vivid on his flushed face.

Jealousy burning in his chest Davy didn’t hold back his disgust. “What are you doing home?”. 

Peter took another backwards step, only to realise he was out of room. Bowing his head he shuffled forward. “I know I should have told you sooner, but since you met Jeannette this morning I needed to tell you-”

With a reassuring smile Mike waved his hand. “Don’t you worry, we know.”

Peter’s eyes widened, his head snapping up. “You know?”

“We know, and we’re cool with it,” Micky added. “It’s actually kind of cute.”

Panic abated into bewilderment, but Peter didn’t look away from them. “What’s cute?”

“You and Jeannette,” Micky replied. 

“We don’t know why you didn’t tell us up front,” Mike mentioned. 

The confusion lasted for scant seconds, Peter ducking his head again. “I just didn’t know what you’d think of me. I mean, I’ve stuck up for us - and I want to make things work... but... sometimes...”

Davy’s resolve broke as Peter stumbled over his words. He couldn’t stay angry, knowing how Peter felt. He knew what it was like to fall in love without warning. It came unexpected, whenever it wanted to come, just like how he was only starting to discover what he felt for Peter. “Sometimes love just happens,” he murmured, but clear enough that everyone heard him.

Peter stayed stock still but his eyes lifted to Davy. “Love?” 

“Yeah, you and Jeannette.” Getting no reaction from Peter, Micky elaborated. “We saw the two of you walking to the coffee shop she works at and-” Micky stopped at hearing a soft laugh from Peter. “Laughing?”

Peter attempted a serious face but it didn’t last long, smile and dimples forming on his face. He tried to rub the expression away, smearing some of the white up to his temple. “I think we have a problem.”

“There’s no problem in you being together with Jeannette. We don’t have a problem with the two of you,” Mike assured him, gesturing to himself and Micky. 

Micky nodded in silent agreement, but glanced to the other end of the couch after several seconds of silence, checking to see if Davy had nodded as well. Instead he stayed stock still. “Davy?” Micky asked.

The thought of threatening Jeannette through Peter quickly crossed Davy’s mind, but he pushed it aside. His attention was currently fixed on Peter, who was quietly but intently watching him. “Peter, what do you mean by a problem?”

“And everyone says I’m the dumb one,” Peter laughed. He shook his head before looking back to Mike and Micky. “The problem is that you’re wrong.”

“How can we be wrong?” Mike asked, refusing to believe that their good old-fashioned detective work was faulty. “We saw you-”

Peter drew away from the door, approaching the couch. “You saw me downtown with Jeannette, my friend and co-worker.” At their disbelieving looks he pressed on. “You followed me long enough to get downtown but you lost me in the rush of people going to work. The timing was no coincidence. I was at the counter when I saw the three of you entering the coffee shop, but I ducked and hid behind the display, nearly knocking over the food. Jeannette asked me what I was doing, what was wrong, why I was hiding, but I didn’t say anything, not when you could over hear me.”

As unreal as what Peter was telling him, it did make sense. Davy remembered how she hadn’t been entirely looking at them, and how it looked like she was having a conversation. “I thought she was talking to the muffins.”

Peter pressed his lips together not to laugh. “I should have held the shelf up but I didn’t want you guys to see me. I guess you were too distracted by the crash to see me scrambling across the floor to the kitchen. I heard our boss when he got back, yelling at all of you and Jeannette. He would have yelled for me too, and he almost did,” Peter explained. He blushed faintly but didn’t look away again. “Jeannette interrupted him, realising I didn’t want you guys to know I was there.”

Micky was the first to ask the question that was on all of their minds. “Why didn’t you want us to know you were there?”

Shrugging a shoulder Peter curled his fingers together, trying to appear casual despite his nerves. “I didn’t want you to think that I didn’t believe in us, our music. I know I won’t ever give up on the band, but I didn’t know if any of you would believe me. I’d never throw away the chance to perform with you at a club or a party, but… sometimes we don’t find those chances. We’d been tight on money for the past couple of months so I thought I’d make some extra money.”

“So what were you doing with Jeannette when we saw you crossing the street?” Davy asked, the image of the two of them elbowing one another refusing to leave his mind.

“We were coming back from our break,” Peter said.

“I told you she was on break,” Mike pointed out smugly in an aside to Micky.

“Yeah, you were right,” Micky agreed. “And we were all wrong about Peter and Jeannette. That makes for good news for Davy though.”

If Micky hadn’t been out of reach Davy would have hit him; instead he had to settle on a glare. “You are delusional,” he declared.

Peter glanced back and forth between Davy and Micky, curious of the glare and teasing grin. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Davy quickly answered, facing forward again.

Mike had been watching the exchange too but stopped, comprehension lighting upon his face. “Wait a second Pete… you mentioned making extra money, didn’t you?”

Peter attempted a casual expression but the corners of his mouth twitched. “Yeah, I did.”

Mike cocked his head, leaning forwards, watching Peter for several seconds before laughing. “You little sneak. Were you ever going to tell us?”

“Tell us what?” Micky asked, stopping his grinning to the side of Davy’s head.

Peter lowered his hand from his face, no longer hiding his smile. “Did Babbitt tell you?”

“No he didn’t,” Mike replied. He settled back on the couch, shaking his head in amused disbelief. “Well, at least we puzzled out that mystery.”

“Mystery? Babbitt?” A similar expression of understanding crossed over Micky. “You paid the rent!”

“Since we didn’t pay it, someone had to do,” Peter reminded. “That someone was me.” 

Davy should have been relieved now that the two pressing issues, mysteries even, had been solved. Not only that, but Peter had assured them that there was nothing more than a friendship between him and Jeannette. Still there was that weight on his heart, the feelings he felt for Peter, that didn’t go away despite the good news. If anything they seemed to grow heavier. “So those were the secrets you were keeping from us?”

A flush spread over Peter’s face. “Yeah, I just thought you’d be angry that I was working, and not focussing on the band.”

“But you were,” Mike assured him. “You were making sure we wouldn’t get kicked out of the house.”

“I should have told you sooner,” Peter said, hiding his face in embarrassment. “That way I wouldn’t have caused you so much trouble. The way you were looking at me a couple of nights ago-”

“Peter, we weren’t angry, we were worried that you were avoiding us,” Davy reasoned. He moved to the edge of his seat, wanting to reach out for Peter to comfort him, but physically held himself back, holding onto the cushion. “You might have been looking out for us, but we wanted to look out for you.” 

“We’re always looking out for each other,” Micky agreed, nodding his head. “That won’t ever change.”

Peter glanced up tentatively, gaze sliding across all of them. “I’m sorry for not telling you the truth.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mike said. “We know the truth now. There won’t be any more secrets.”

Davy sincerely hoped that Mike was right. He didn’t know if he was capable of keeping what was in his heart hidden. He didn’t know if he could be as secretive as Peter, or even if he needed to be. Another glance at the older man though, face relaxed in a genuine smile, and he was pretty sure that the secrets would keep coming.


End file.
